


this one's different because it's us

by skaggirl



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, also these canon science boyfriends :-), yeah there's sex but there's also lots of talking through emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaggirl/pseuds/skaggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Of all those grim desires I have, this could be worse than killing a man.”</i><br/>Victor can't sleep, and Henry's got a few secrets fit to share at 5 am.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this one's different because it's us

Had Victor been forced to imagine the worst possible sensation in the world, which he hadn’t before now, he might have said this: it being 5 am and his eyes itching like every eyelash had fallen off and into them, and him not being able to sleep no matter how hard he purposefully ceased to think about it. All of this was currently plaguing him, and even more so because this was his second morning of trying to function with nearly no rest.

Last night, his not being able to sleep was due to the guilt of the circumstances he was seeing his long-time friend under. Already he had to suffer guilt from knowing he was the father of monsters, a pain that had been eating away at his insides for as long as he had been doing his work, though it never seemed to stop him from self destructing even farther. However, his newfound reliance on Henry was cause for a different kind of self hatred. Victor wasn’t sure what was worse off: either the fact that he hadn’t cared to stay in contact with Henry after college, or the truth that he would likely never have contacted him again if it didn’t have to do with Lily. His heavy conscience was the only factor keeping him from feeling inhuman.

Admittedly, Henry was always the better companion of the two. Even when they had both needed each other most, Henry had needed Victor that tiniest bit more. Victor was content with nothing but his ideal image of life and no platonic companion was necessary to glorify that, even if it meant excluding the best friend he had ever had.

They had barely spoken about anything beside work for the past two days. Supposedly, neither one of them was willing.

Victor rose from his cot and held his palms over his eyes. Blinking wouldn’t help the sting, so he gave up after trying for a moment and stood to stretch. Henry’s room at Bethlam was barely adequate, and Victor knew he couldn’t even go for a glass of water if he would have liked to considering the room had no sink. Instead, he sneaked out of the room as quietly as possible, all the while watching Henry in his bed against the opposite wall.

After leaving the second story bedroom, Victor’s journey lead down to the cellar where Henry’s laboratory was (unfavorably) kept. The halls of the hospital were mostly silent until Victor reached the bottom level, only to be spit and cursed at by a few unhappy patients being kept in cells, which didn’t entirely bother him until one man called him a pansy and he was forced to remember Ethan’s many quips about him. How Henry managed to walk through here every day, never laying a hand on these mean-spirited people, was entirely mysterious to Victor. The most esteemed chemist he knew was also the most short-tempered person he knew, or at least had known at one time. The Henry who he’d recruited to destroy Lily was severely changed from before.

Victor’s idea was that, if he made it to where his work was kept, he could be soothed by the prospect of the beautiful future him and Henry were creating. So long as he was by Henry’s side now, their past would be swept behind them and they could rebuild.

Once finally in the comfort of his friend’s lab, Victor oohed at the glorious setup. From floor to ceiling was nothing but hours of Henry’s work, all wondrous things that he never once kept secret while Victor was hiding his own massive discoveries, which in truth made him sad to think about. For five years Henry had been becoming the scientist he had always dreamt of being, while Victor was disguised as a resurrectionist’s apprentice in a city morgue, severing the limbs of corpses in a room he hid behind a bookcase. He had become increasingly pathetic the longer he was away from his friend.

Still, he sat alone in the laboratory with little morphine in his system, barely bothered. All he felt was tiredness, and a growing emptiness in the pit of his stomach that made him long for someone else’s company. Victor often tried to distract himself from loneliness—only, this time, he had nothing more to distract himself with. So he would simply wait for tiredness to come instead.

As if by design, the clunky boiler room door opened behind Victor and Henry stepped into the laboratory. A few mean men shouted at him from their cells. Henry looked back to them and willingly closed the door, then turned his gaze back to Victor. “Has sneaking around become your new habit, old boy?” he asked, sounding interrogative but then smiling kindly at the other.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Victor hesitated, “I was intended for sleep, but it never came to me.” He looked to his palms, which were shaking as per usual. Henry noticed him looking and looked, too.

(God, how Victor hated addiction; it threatened taking everything and everyone from him. Just the sight of his needle-pricked arms repulsed Henry, though he had seen Victor in this condition many times over again. How common a sight this was just served to make it more repulsive, because perhaps Henry didn’t know who Victor was when he _wasn’t_ dependent on morphine.)

“I hope you understand that I will have to wean you off of it eventually,” Henry said. He meant the morphine, that long-time rival of theirs. Victor expected that much, but he hadn’t concluded that Henry was threatening this out of affection. He hadn’t been thinking rationally for a long time.

“But first we shall finish what we started,” suggested Victor, taking an unfamiliar vial from Henry’s shelves into his hand. He pretended to study it so as to not make eye contact.

Henry shook his head slowly, disapproving. “You do understand that I have studied psychology, Victor? That seeing you in this condition and so eager to deny it might be at least the slightest bit harrowing?” He asked this indignantly, but the other did not react. He stepped nearer to Victor, who was sitting on a stool amid the shelves of concoctions, and lifted Victor’s drooping head by the chin so that his friend would look at him. “Your face has never been so familiar to the early morning as now. Why are you not sleeping, Doctor Frankenstein? Is this not abnormal?” Henry’s eyes were so incredibly sincere for a man with muted emotions. Without his rage, without his violent passion, Henry threatened to be an average man.

“Do not speak like I’m foreign to you,” Victor scoffed at him. Despite his obvious irritation, he did not make any attempts to distance himself from the other.

Henry drew his thumb away from the dimple on Victor’s chin. “But are you not? It is not I who asked to become estranged.” Then, his same hand and fingers began to creep down around Victor’s neck and hairline. 

Of course, Henry had always had to touch Victor so he could fully communicate. He would hold his face to share miraculous discoveries, or grab his arm when he wanted to bicker at him, or tug on his ear when he was acting frisky. Vengeful men like Henry relied so heavily on physicality, even the weak ones. Henry needed to prove his presence, at least when it was accepted.

“I almost forgot about you, if only I could, but it seemed too impossible to not worry. And now here you are, in this exact state which I feared most.” He rubbed soothingly back and forth on the nape of Victor’s neck, contrary to the apathetic tone in his voice. Henry was not terribly angry, like he easily could have been, but calmly stern instead. There was only the smallest bit of his passion left. It buried deep inside of him and threatened to diminish all of his restraint, had he not been such an excellent chemist to have altered his own character almost completely. Then he claimed, “I am not the first to call you a monster, Victor.”

(The first was Victor himself. He accepted that guilt freely.)

“Yes, _I_ allowed myself to become one,” Victor admitted, “and had _you_ always been in contact, I wouldn’t have lost that grip on myself.” Upon saying this, he finally returned Henry’s stare, knowing that Henry could probably see the hurt in his expression. “I believe that much to be completely true,” he proclaimed. Perhaps he was tired, or exaggerating the smallest feelings, but Victor felt immensely more lonely in that moment. He was sorry for falling out of contact with the only true friend he had ever had. 

Contrary, Henry had complete faith in their future. He had a reckless amount of optimism and had always believed he could mend Victor’s wounds if need be. So when he saw the strain in his friend’s eyes, he changed the subject to something less exhausting, hoping to not overreach, though he knew to discipline him sufficiently when need be. Victor had never been enlightened toward his own needs and necessities. All he had ever seemed to focus on was his studies.

“I appreciate your sentiments… but you never answered my question,” he began, “Why are you not sleeping, Victor? I wonder if you even know why, yourself.”

Victor sighed, then he looked on with furrowed brows as he thought. “I suppose it is… stress. I cannot turn my conscious down at night, it only gets louder.” This was partially true.

“I am sure that is it. You have been through a lot, I understand—restlessness seems perfectly natural.” Henry grinned, then ruffled Victor’s hair from the short distance between them. Victor made a bitter face. “Yes, you are stable. _Compos mentis._ ”

Quickly, Victor returned the vial he had been holding and straightened himself out. Though undoubtedly pale from his morphine reliance, he was determined to appear his most healthy, knowing that it pleased Henry. He had already been enough of an emotional burden to him. “You are right,” he admitted, “time has been equally enlightening and horrifying… in fact, it reminds me a bit of school.” Then Henry laughed, which made Victor laugh with him.

They were grinning wide when Henry seemed to catch himself by surprise, suddenly seeming concerned, and he looked Victor over.

“Old boy,” he began, following with a forced snicker, only to appear even more unsettled, “the last I saw you…” he exhaled, “neither you nor I… had been kissed.” His eyes roamed without stopping, but the rest of his body was unmoving. This new Henry was less clumsy than the former when talking through his emotions. (Though, undoubtedly, he still fumbled quite a bit.)

A blush that was almost unrecognizable ghosted over his cheeks. Henry tried to hide it by lowering his head, which was entirely uncharacteristic of him being that he was a cocksure scientist. Victor actually thought to himself that this response was endearing, in the sort of sense that it was Henry and he’d only ever known him to be angry or sad but never flustered. 

Henry regained his former emotionless composure. “And now, I am working to destroy your beloved Lily when I still remain never kissed… when I am as virginal as I was when you left… and I suppose what I mean is that time abuses us all equally.”

Victor understood quite well. If not for the power he initially had over Lily’s emotions, he would never have been able to manipulate her into loving him. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to find Henry with a companion when he reached out to him. Neither of them had ever had an abundance of friends, true to what Henry said.

Victor’s strength was that he studied Galvanism and surgery, which supplemented his almost poetic ability to create artificial life. He learned the concrete workings of people like machines, and he made unrestrained patchwork monsters out of what was once alive and inhibited. _He never had much time to consider his own emotions because of this._ Yet for Henry, his time spent on chemistry was never wasted inhumanly, because every conclusion he made was another step closer to curing the human condition. His identity as a chemist was based solely off of his desire to change people, to make them kinder and gentler toward each other and himself. Henry craved humanity and suffered for what he lacked in it. He needed warmth and nurture, which Victor had once provided him in abundance only to deny him completely.

“You are lonely,” he announced. And it was true, they both were very lonely. Except Victor was lonely because he had known many loves and been forced to leave them, whereas Henry never knew love from his own father, nonetheless anyone else. Henry nodded solemnly.

“How long have you felt this way?” asked Victor then, splaying his fingers over Henry’s shoulder. (This was meant to comfort the both of them. It meant that even frigid and unemotional Victor still felt capable of closeness.)

He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked that question, because Henry was born an illegitimate, half-caste child and had been doomed from the day his mother died. This made Victor regrettably remember the many instances of a younger Henry being abused both physically and verbally by every peer he had. Victor would have preferred to forget those parts of their relationship, where he had become the only person left to console the other. _We are bound on a wheel of pain_ , he remembered.

Yet Henry’s same sympathetic eyes were now set firmly on him, seeming to stare directly into his mind. Victor wondered if they were thinking the same about wanting to forget.

“I have many, many thoughts I dread to think, Victor. So many of them hostile. So many laced with contempt. And all relative to those atrocities that people commit against me.” Henry had a somber expression now. “I know why they do it… but I refuse to understand. I like to think that I am above them in graciousness, when I am not. I would kill over a blunder.” A long pause. “And you know this all very well, yet you addressed a letter to me asking to see each other again… am I wrong to have such faith in you?”

Without warning, Henry reached again for Victor’s jaw and placed light pressure under it, pulling him forward. Their faces were inches apart when Henry stopped to seek permission.

“Of all those grim desires I have,” he ran his thumb over Victor’s lips, “this could be worse than killing a man.”

On hearing this, Victor’s breath quivered.

He was charmed to hear Henry speak so vulnerably so, quickly, without any hesitation, Victor pressed up close and kissed Henry on the lips. It was chaste and lasted a matter of seconds. Between those silent seconds they communicated the words _I have always loved you_.

(Victor had no regret in writing that letter.)

After they pulled apart, Henry rested his forehead on Victor’s and grinned, not saying anything. They exchanged a knowing look then he placed his hands on Victor’s trembling thighs and tugged him closer. Victor helped in his effort by straddling his waist, and afterwards kissing Henry again, only much deeper now. 

It all was very fumbly, in retrospect, but it was the best and hottest either of them had ever felt before. Neither had reason to complain. They familiarized themselves with each other’s bodies and it felt all too natural, like five years had passed in a second and they were back again in college, completely inseparable.

“I’m sorry you had to keep this secret,” Victor said between regaining his breath. “I’m so sorry I never considered it,” he whimpered. Henry just shook his head in protest.

“Already I feared and denied myself the wanting, but I could never repress it.” _Not even if he wanted to._ Perhaps he had never felt the same way Henry felt, and maybe he still didn’t, and maybe he never would, but Henry would call himself blessed to have even one moment where Victor reciprocated that unrelenting level of desire.

Unsurprisingly, Victor concealed no sounds. His enthusiastic moans made it so that he felt Henry growing hard against his thigh completely untouched. The kisses alone were intoxicating. 

Honestly, Henry hadn’t minded being a virgin—never once had he thought he was lacking anything necessary in his life, and he really believed that he could remain happily celibate for the rest of his times—but having Victor this close in his vicinity was undeniably addicting. He thought that he would probably never know anything more desirable than the sound of Victor’s strained voice, and it made him want to laugh into his mouth between the sweeter, lighter kisses. Victor reciprocated by chasing after his lips every time they broke apart. 

“Do you want me to…?” Victor started, drawing off to let his actions complete his question. He reached down and cupped his hand over the tent in Henry’s nightshirt, which luckily didn’t restrict much movement at all. Henry nearly choked out of shock. 

The feeling of somebody else touching him intimately was something entirely new to Henry, and Victor had great skill to make up for what experience he lacked. In all, it made for a very lucky scenario. Victor didn’t find Henry’s surprise to be humorous. Instead of entertaining it he asked again for Henry’s consent, looking up at him tenderly. “Please do,” begged Henry.

Victor’s forehead rested on Henry’s shoulder. He crept his hand up under Henry’s nightshirt, feeling soft thighs and hips and a narrow waist before reaching forward and tugging once, slowly on Henry’s cock. This had Henry in shambles already. He tried to regain what was lost of his balance by holding where Victor’s biceps were, gripping like he could fall to his death if he chose to let go.

“Henry,” Victor muttered at level to his chest, “that hurts.”

Henry immediately released his grip, dropping his arms to hang limp instead. “Sorry—I didn’t intend—um, I’m sorry.” Victor only repaid him by stroking him steadily, repeatedly, not paying attention to his apologies. Then he spit in his palm and returned it to Henry’s cock, which definitely implied he had better priorities than listening to Henry sound sorry.

At one point in their friendship, likely in their first few months of being acquainted, Henry wouldn’t have surprised himself had he inflicted pain on Victor for his own sadistic pleasure. There was a side of him devoid of all goodness and propriety. This was his own little tale of man’s duality: him being an unsullied name but harboring animalistic, murderous rage. He would do everything in his ability never to hurt Victor.

He placed his hands on Victor’s forearms, one arm that was working under his clothes and one that was steadying him by his hip, then he pet up and down, all the while avoiding the skin that was pinched and bruised. 

They both knew they were on thin ice, so the least Henry could do was show his support of Victor. Victor looked to appreciate it.

It seemed like it had only been mere seconds before Henry realized he was about to come, and also that he didn’t want to. Not yet. He savored this feeling more than anything else before: the feeling of sex, but specifically Victor, or more specifically the feeling of having sex with Victor. He wondered which side of himself was controlling him now, be it the primitive or the restrained. 

“Ah, wait,” he cried as he slid his hand to Victor’s wrist, “not yet.” 

He moved Victor’s hand away and entangled their fingers. The feeling of an approaching orgasm lingered in his body, so he willed it away with sheer effort. Them holding hands now brought a smile back to his face. Victor appeared slightly surprised, but he didn’t object, especially when Henry pulled him in and kissed him again. 

“Why not?” Victor spoke against his lips.

“I’m being selfish.”

Victor could have disagreed, but instead he joked, “As per usual.” This made Henry chuckle. At the least they were back to making deprecating jokes. They were the sort of childish delight they could always rely on each other to indulge in.

Henry’s happy radiance faded into determination as he began to work on the clasps on Victor’s pants. His agile fingers, fit to handle bottles and tools every day, achieved a lot in short time so finally he dropped to his knees in front of Victor. The other watched in amusement.

Henry fit his mouth over the head of Victor’s cock first, to test how it felt for them both. Victor didn’t take it lightly. His one hand grasped for the work table to his side, and his other fell to Henry’s head. As Henry stretched his jaw wider and took more in, Victor tugged on what he could manage to grab of the thick, dark hair.

(He hated to think it, but this was infinitely better than any part of fucking Lily had been. She was unmoving whereas Henry reciprocated twofold. She was unloving whereas Henry was vehement.)

“You feel… really great.”

“Hn...?” sounded Henry, muffled around the weight on his tongue, though he still managed to smile as he looked up at the other. Victor momentarily questioned his sanity.

And it was greater than he could have described had he tried. Henry’s jaw could open to span an impressive amount, and quickly he learned to swallow around Victor’s cock as it reached the back of his throat. Victor was being embarrassingly loud.

The temptation to fuck up into Henry’s mouth was completely inexorable, so Victor did. When Henry choked because of him, fear swept over Victor and washed away nearly as quickly as it came.

Victor remembered when Henry asked him not to store hard liquor in their room, because it made him destructive and he relied too much on it sometimes. He remembered how he stopped drinking spirits that year, and how Henry introduced him to shisha. He remembered how Henry was so angry on rare nights that he would recite his own hit list, and how, if he vented and then mellowed enough by later on in the night, he would even apologize to Victor and embrace him. The affection was secondary while the rage was first, and it came in waves. The affection always lasted longer.

Victor remembered this all and reminded himself that Henry would never hurt him, especially not now. The fact that he had any fear was most alarming of all.

Henry regained his composure quickly, and he pressed his hands down on Victor’s hips to hold him in place. He began to move quicker, working Victor up towards his release. Then, when Victor was about to come, he had no idea how to vocalize it, so he didn’t. He pulled even tighter on Henry’s hair as he came down his throat. Henry didn’t dare move. 

“I didn’t mean for that, I’m sorry,” Victor whined as Henry pulled off and began to cough. But through the haze of his orgasm he took notice of Henry’s hand slick with liquid, his shoulders heaving as he smirked proudly back at Victor. He stood up and grabbed hold of the other, kissing him again with wet, abused lips. “That is… disgusting,” Victor responded.

Henry relished in the visible revulsion on Victor’s face. He wiped his dirtied hand off onto his nightshirt and then he swept Victor’s bangs to the side and placed both hands on his cheeks, holding him in place to admire him fully. Victor cringed again, drawing his face away from Henry’s hand before giving in and letting himself be touched. 

“I hope I’m not too rash to say that perhaps you should not need to save Lily.” Victor heard this and showed defeat.

“No. I have been far misguided. Completely obsessive.” Victor sighed again. “I only hope to see my creatures find repentance, eventually.” He planted a light, sweet kiss on Henry’s jawline and then rested his head on Henry’s shoulder.

“And has your conscience quieted?”

“Yes.”

Henry pulled Victor into a hug. It was not typical for them, but it was not bad, either.

“Then should we sleep, now?”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Glorious things I gained from this experience:  
> 1) The circumstances to imagine Henry in a nightshirt.  
> 2) Like 20 new headcanons that I can hardcore advocate.


End file.
